Now see…his shadowed eyes. IllnessDances asA constant friend, the bane of royal linesAnd the distinguishing appearance of pureBlood…hued blue and gold.

To the North: RusTo the West: RomeAnd the Roads have been troddenBy the Vandals,See him:Now in green tailcoat and the dustOf lineage, thinning bloodDark-eyedLike a stargazer…the sleep belonging notTo night or day but there is noRest for Kings and Emperors.The Heavens respectNone but those who seek their ownFortunes of the Stars, and the Blood is that sameBlood, of illness and power.

Behold the Grand City!Constantinople, while the Midwestern couples takeTheir photographs and theEmpires fall:

Green coloredBiplanes, (that won a war bet moneyBetween the Turkish Italian German English)Pale-shadowedByzantine. The nameJustinian jumps out of print toHumid June and the whiteBirds perched atop the thatchedHuts of the peasants, preeningTheir tail feathers (that spelled outDeath for Fashion and Aristocracy)

Out of distances he stands,Attentive. The royal colors have fadedNow not to green orAsh, but the purple-golden-blueAdorns no longer the Turkish Flag. Byzantium is best Left to Yeats and all those youngMen, Emperors and Kings,Dying simply of blood

All Roads either leadTo Rome

Or from it.

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